As Tim turned, he saw Tess walking with Brandon and her laughter echoing down the corridor. With the vision, his heart hurtled to his stomach as he recalled how big a gap was between the two worlds: one black and white, and the other colored—contrasting.
"Tess, fancy seeing you here," Tim said, forcing a smile despite the knot in his stomach.
Tess smirked, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Oh, Tim, what are you doing here? Can't afford a proper education, so you thought you'd sneak in as a janitor?" she goaded, cutting through the air like daggers.
The nearby recruits chuckled nervously for support, unsure how to react to the exchange.
Tim held himself in check, but his fists bunched up at his sides. "Just enjoying my time, Tess. How's your new relationship with Brandon going?" he responded, now his voice laced with resentment.
Tess's smirk broadened as she turned her eyes to Brandon. The guy just stood there, looking so smug. "Much better than being stuck with a poor loser like you," she spat back with each venomous word.
Laughter came from Brandon's crew, their sarcastic cheers mixed with Tess's insult. A wave of humiliation went through Tim, but he wouldn't let it show.
;")
"Guess you're enjoying your new life, then. Hope this is everything you ever wanted," Tim said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Tess shrugged her mane over her shoulder. "Oh, it is. Living in high style is so much better than wallowing in squalor with your sick mother," she responded once more in an offhand way, her words hitting Tim like a sucker punch.
Brandon chuckled and gave his head a shake. "Tess, you seriously need to be nicer. How are you mixing with a poverty virus-like Tim?" he said again, playing haughty. "Rather be eaten by VIREX or live with a local dog than be caught dead with him."
Brandon leaned toward Tim, his smirk growing wider as Brandon's gang burst into laughter. "Hey, Tim, knock knock," Brandon said, his voice full of burlesque.
With great reluctance, Tim played along, muttering, "Who's there?" He knew what was coming but was powerless to forestall it.
"It's me," Brandon said, putting on a voice in falsehood fashion, like an old woman. "Tim's sick mother!"
Their laughter resonated down the hallway; it rang in Tim's ears like mockery. His cheeks flushed, and he stood there, just enduring the humiliation.
It was growing louder—in fact, far more so than the sound of laughter—and Bryce's face darkened. For a moment, there was something almost akin to sympathy in his eyes as he turned and looked at Tim, and he felt a pang of sadness for his roommate, having watched his friend humiliated like that.
By now, Bryce couldn't stomach it anymore. He narrowed his eyes, and stepped forward, his voice steady. "That's enough, Brandon."
Brandon turned around to face Bryce, and the sneer deepened. "Oh, look, another loser trying to be a hero. Stay out of this, nerd."
But Bryce stood firm. "You are just a daddy's dog, Brandon. Always following orders from your father. You think that makes you tough?"
Brandon's face screwed up in anger as he threw himself at Bryce. He did manage to get a good punch into his jaw, and Bryce recoiled back, clutching at his face in pain and surprise.
Tim's temper overflowed. I couldn't stand there and watch him a second longer. I stepped forward and also threw a punch into Brandon's jaw. Brandon stumbled back, momentarily stunned.
Brandon's gang sprang into action, charging for Tim. They mobbed him, punching and kicking, and the hallway erupted into chaos. Tim did his best to defend himself, but it was too many on one.
"Enough!" a voice shouted. It was school counselor, Mr. Thompson, fighting his way through the crowd. "Break it up, now!"
The gang reluctantly backed off. Brandon was nursing his bruised face, his eyes blazing with anger at Tim. "This isn't over," he spat, before stalking off with his friends.
Mr. Thompson helped Tim to his feet, his expression stern. "Tim, Bryce, my office. Now."
As they walked to the office, Bryce glanced at Tim, his voice low. "Sorry, man. I couldn't just watch."
Tim produced a small pained smile. They walked in silence down the corridor to Mr. Thompson's office, with the weight of what had just happened weighing upon him. He feared suspension for his act of violence the worst.
They entered the office and he motioned for them to sit. Bryce opened his mouth to apologize again, but Mr. Thompson raised his hand to stop him.
"I'm going to let this slide," Mr. Thompson said, his tone at command. "But if this happens again, especially for a new intake like you, Tim, you'll be terminated from the academy."
Tim felt his heart drop. He knew what that would mean—a great disgrace in his society to get sent away from Vanguard Academy. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Thompson learned forward, his eyes flinty. "Next time, Tim, I won't need your apology. Understood?"
Tim nodded, repentance and fear mixing inside him. "Yes, sir."
Bryce glanced at Tim and written all over his face was guilt. "I'm sorry, Tim," he said quietly after they left the office.
Tim shook his head vigorously to reassure him with a smile. "Not your fault, Bryce. Thanks for standing up for me."
They trudged back toward their dorm in silence. Jumping jacks were going on inside Tim's brain as he tried to come up with what to tell his mother if he did get expelled. He would never do anything to put more stress on her delicately standing frame.
They went into the dorm, and Tim moved straight to his bed to lie down. The storm inside was making every jerk and flex of his joints slow and deliberate while he tried to set his bed up. Bryce watched him for a second before he quietly got into bed.
"Goodnight, Tim," Bryce said softly, but Tim just ignored him and lost himself in thought.
Tim lay supine, staring up at the ceiling as his mind raced. The events of the day replayed themselves in his mind, the worry gnawing at him. He could ill afford expulsion; his family's honor depended on him succeeding here. His father had been a respected Vanguard, a symbol of pride. Then he died, and everything changed.
His mother fell ill, and he felt the responsibility to uphold the family name on his shoulders. He sighed deeply, the weight of expectations weighing down on him. There is no room for failure. He needs to prove not only to the academy but to everybody else who has ever doubted him, more so to himself.
Tim's thoughts strayed to Mom. Was she all right without him? The worrying gnawed at him, adding to the resolve he was building. He, quite simply, didn't want to let her down. As the exhaustion took over, his breathing slowed; he fell into a restless sleep at last, tormented by just one question: would he be able to take it—the huge pressure and expectations?